


gifts

by laureljay



Series: stories [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, New York City, The Author is a Hopeless Sap, although technically it isn't called that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laureljay/pseuds/laureljay
Summary: She says, “I have to leave tomorrow morning to be home for Christmas. So let’s get moving,” and leads him further underground to the subway platforms.Launchpad and Della have a few hours together in New Stork City.





	gifts

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read my other fic, stories, the central relationship might not make sense to you. Della and Launchpad have an ongoing semi-casual romantic thing going.

He’s never been to New Stork City before. Della has, though – Launchpad can’t imagine a place on Earth that she doesn’t know inside and out – and she’s happy to guide him around. She picks him up at the train station, finding him with apparent ease despite the crush of people, and kisses him hello. She says, “I have to leave tomorrow morning to be home for Christmas. So let’s get moving,” and leads him further underground to the subway platforms.

 

They do enough sightseeing for three days, Launchpad thinks, in about eight hours. They pass by the tree at Rockerduck Center, which Launchpad feels oddly drawn to though they don’t stay long. They pass churches and theatres, and spend a while wandering through Central Park. It’s nearly freezing outside, but as long as they keep walking, it’s not unpleasant. And Della keeps walking; she is constantly tugging him along to the next landmark.

 

By nightfall, Launchpad’s neck aches from craning it to look up. As Della studies the subway map mounted on the station wall, he asks, “Where to next?”

 

“Downtown. I wanna get one last present for Donald, and I know exactly where I wanna get it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Broadway local isn’t as crowded as the other trains they’ve been on today. Not that he minds being pressed up against Della, exactly – it’s the forty strangers he’s had in his personal space today that he’s not a fan of. They find an empty bench that doesn’t look like it’s been through a dust storm; she leans into his shoulder and watches the stops pass by through the window.

 

At their stop, she grabs him by the hand and leads him off the train, up another unnervingly narrow staircase, out of fare control and back into the outside world.

 

He has to stop at the top of the stairs to suck in a breath, take in the sheer _volume_ of all of it. The buildings here aren’t quite as glamorous here as they were a little farther north, but they’re still tall, lit up red and yellow and white in the darkness. Somebody pushes past him, muttering about blocking foot traffic, and Della giggles and pulls him forward with her.

 

She leads him down a street that has three different names in as many blocks. As they wait at a chaotic intersection – Della looks ready to jaywalk, but Launchpad knows long odds when he sees them and stands firmly on the curb – she points across the street at a pink-and-white sign. “That’s where we’re going.”

 

He follows her halfway down the block, and up a flight of stairs into a shop. It’s a modestly-sized room, but there’s not much space to maneuver, because the place is filled floor-to-ceiling with bins of vinyl records. Music is playing from a pair of speakers in opposite corners of the room, the kind of cheery Christmas music Launchpad vaguely recognizes.

 

There are no other people, save for a young woman leaning on the counter by the register. When she sees Della, her expression changes from serene semi-boredom to glee and she springs into motion to wrap her up in a tight hug.

 

“Uh, hi,” Della breathes. “I need my lungs back now.”

 

The saleswoman squeaks apologetically and lets her go. “Sorry, Dels! It’s good to see you.” She takes a deep, dramatic breath, as if to calm herself down; it’s somewhat effective. “Did you wanna shop, or just catch up?” She looks Launchpad up and down, evidently not having noticed him before. “And who’s this?”

 

“Ellie, this is Launchpad. He’s a pilot, too. L.P., I met Ellie when I was here a couple years ago.” Della explains. “And I wanted to get something for my brother while I was here, actually. His taste is way weirder than mine, so I figured I could use some expert advice.” Ellie, preening a little at the compliment, heads straight for a bin and gestures for Della to follow her. Launchpad looks through some of the records idly, reading the handwritten genre labels on each bin, but pauses when he realizes he doesn’t have anything to play them on.

 

He looks out the window instead, unzipping his jacket. It’s a full sixty degrees warmer in here than outside. Across the street, a Darkwing Duck symbol catches his eye from where it’s hanging in a shop window a few doors up. He’s about to tell Della to come check it out – but there appears to be a fistfight starting in the shop’s courtyard. He figures it’s better left alone. Hanukkah ended a week ago, anyway – he spent the first three nights at home with his family – so it’s not like he has holiday shopping to catch up on.

 

But if his sister found out that he’d been to New Stork City and hadn’t even brought her anything back, she might never speak to him again. “I gotta get something for Loopy,” he says, turning around.

 

“Hmm?” Della’s head pops up from a box labeled _sludge metal_. The knot of her scarf has been pulled loose in an attempt to cool down.

 

“Like, a souvenir. Ideally something pink.”

 

Della closes her eyes for a moment, working through ideas. “Ooh. Go downstairs, and keep walking down the street. On the corner – not the one we came from, the corner of Second Avenue – they sell all kinds of stuff. You could get her a keychain or a T-shirt or whatever they have.”

 

“Cool.” He zips his jacket back up. “I’m gonna go do that. You keep looking, be right back.” She grins and turns her focus back to the box.

 

On the corner, under a yellow awning, are racks selling everything from gloves to wigs to junk food. A pale pink scarf with _New Stork_ patterned across it catches his attention right away, the shiny thread reflecting the light from a nearby streetlamp. He lifts it off the rack gingerly; it feels soft, if a little fragile. He holds it up to a guy sitting in a plastic chair between the racks, who says, “Seven.”

 

Launchpad fishes a few bills out of his pocket and hands them over. “Thanks,” he says, and the man nods. He folds the scarf carefully and tucks it away inside his jacket.

 

As he climbs the stairs to the record store, a snowflake lands on his beak. Then another, on the sleeve of his jacket. The blast of cold air that accompanies him into the shop makes Ellie shiver, but Della only looks up, smiling. “Any luck?”

 

He presents the scarf for approval. “How cute,” she coos. “I’m sure she’ll love it.” She holds up a pair of records. “I managed to find some that I think Donnie and I’ll both like. You ready to go?”

 

Launchpad nods, and they head over to the register, where Ellie’s waiting for them. As Della’s checking out, it occurs to Launchpad that the music has changed. It’s still a Christmas song, but not one that he recognizes. It’s slow, and lonely, and he finds himself swaying gently to it. Della turns and looks up at him, head cocked to the side – then interlaces her fingers with his, beginning to sway with him. There’s no room for them to dance without knocking something over, but for a moment they just stay like that while Ellie double-bags the records to keep them dry. Della must know the song, because she hums along with the singer’s sigh of _it must be Christmastime_.

 

When they come back to reality, Della’s shopping bag and change are neatly arranged on the counter, and Ellie’s watching them, eyebrows raised.

 

Della gives her friend one last hug goodbye, and she and Launchpad step out into the cold. The snow’s begun to pick up, though he can’t tell if it’s going to stick. “Okay,” she says, looking up at him. “Shopping’s done. No more obligations.” She squeezes his hand. “You wanna explore more, or go back to the hotel?”

 

He squeezes back and runs his thumb up the inside of her wrist. “Oh, I don’t know,” he teases. “I think I’ve seen all the sights I can handle today. Maybe we’d better go back to the hotel and rest.”

 

A shiver runs through her, and he feels a flash of pride – until he realizes that the wind has picked up, too. Another gust whips her scarf over her shoulder, the knot falling apart, and she grabs it before the wind can push it away into the street. “Yeah. Hotel. That sounds nice,” she murmurs, wrapping it back around her neck and giving it a protective pat. Then she hooks her elbow around his, says, “All right. Back the way we came,” and sets off up the street. Launchpad follows without a thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the direct result of my working Tuesday nights during Christmas season in the building where my parents met thirty years ago. That building makes a cameo in the story; it's not the record store.
> 
> Happy holidays!


End file.
